


Running with wolves (has got nothing on summer jobs)

by Myalpha



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Internship (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Future, Drunk!Derek, Lunar Eclipse, M/M, Pining, Texting, drunk!Stiles, long distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myalpha/pseuds/Myalpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets an internship at Google over the summer, which means for the first time since starting college at UC Berkeley, he's not coming home for the break.</p><p>Derek doesn't miss him. Until he really, really does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running with wolves (has got nothing on summer jobs)

**Author's Note:**

> I took some artistic license with the timeline of The Internship, and kind of merged it with what would happen at an actual internship at google. AKA they're given more than four hours to complete a programming task cause that's just ridiculous.
> 
> Also made up my own canon around lunar cycles, because reasons thats why. Oh well, I'm still making more of an effort than Jeff Davis 'cause at least mine are properly timed and researched and backed by science.

It was 9am on the first morning of summer, and Stiles was already at work. I mean sure, he was pumped about it. He got an internship at Google for god's sake. Interning at Google was what dreams (and careers) were made of. A part of him was wildly excited – the same part, no doubt, that had been telling everyone he'd ever met how he was going to be interning for Google almost constantly. But at the same time, a part of him was saying '9am on the first monday of break? Really?'. He'd only had his final exam like three days ago, couldn't he get at least a little bit of down time? Just one sleep-in?

It wasn't a bad set-up though. He got free accommodation, sharing an apartment with two other interns – which was handy because even though he only went to UC Berkeley and theoretically could have commuted, they refused to let him stay in his dorm over the summer. He was reliably informed there was free food, and free everything-else-one-could-possibly need as well – and its pretty obvious how well received the words 'free stuff' are received by a college student.

So at 9am on the first monday of summer, he arrived at the building where the first Orientation session was apparently to be held – figuring he was in the right place when he saw about a hundred other twenty-somethings. Checking the time, he was busy debating whether or not he still had time to grab a coffee before they started the session when his phone beeped.

_You missed the pack meeting last night_

He was completely unprepared for seeing Derek's name attached to the message. Stiles was pretty sure him and Derek had never messaged each other, ever. He only has the damn number because he figured it would be handy to have as many werewolfy types contactable as possible in the (depressingly inevitable) case of supernatural danger.

He switched his phone over to silent mode before replying: _Dude, I already told you, I'm not coming home this summer._

The reply came back almost instantly: _No you didn't._

Stiles was about to fire off a snarky reply, but a bunch of people who looked like they were in charge just walked in, and he had to pay attention. When their speech got too repetitive, however, he quickly fired off another text.

_Yeah man, I'm pretty sure I did. 100% sure, in fact. Also, should I feel honored? This is more words than you've spoken to me in weeks._

Suddenly, back in the real world, they're making all the interns pick groups. Stiles is kinda pissed off by this, because seriously, everyone who has ever been to College knows that pick-up-groups are the worst things to ever happen, and totally inequitable besides. So he's sighing and rolling his eyes and hoping some competent people approach him, while deep down knowing that's not going to happen because he spend the few minutes he had for bonding and conversing with his fellow interns sending text messages to a needy alpha werewolf.

So Stiles somehow ends up in the lamest group possible. Theres him, a girl clearly overcompensating for her chronic shyness and nervousness, an asian guy with mommy-issues and a complex about failure, and two hopeless-looking old guys who are definitely not supposed to be interning at Google.

Anything to avoid conversing with them, Stiles shoots another message off to Derek. _If you must know, I'm interning at Google._

His phone buzzes silently with the reply: _The tech company?_

Stiles sighs and rolls his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. _No the salad dressing company! ...yes the tech giant. Geez, anyone would think you'd never seen a computer before._

\-----

He gets a reply three hours later.

_At least I knew enough to recognise the name Google._

Stiles smiles, an actual, for-real smile at Derek's text. _My little sourwolf is growing up,_ he replied.

\-----

He gets the next text at 6pm that night. He's back in his shared apartment, planning where to go to get dinner with his roommates. 

_How was your day?_

Understandably, Stiles is somewhat taken aback by this. Him and Derek just didn't have that kind of a relationship. _Careful, Cujo,_ Stiles replies quickly, _people might start to think you care. But since you asked, it was okay. I don't think I'm going to get a job, my team kinda bombed out of the first test, but the pay's good and the office complex is great._

He hit send, before feeling slightly guilty. Derek seemed to be actually making an effort to open up and be polite. Hadn't that been what Stiles had been after ever since they met when he was sixteen? Maybe he should make it clear that he wasn't just being dismissive. So he fired off a quick one word message, hoping to assuage his guilt: _You?_

Putting his phone down, Stiles went off to see what his roommates were doing about dinner. He didn't expect an answer, so he wasn't surprised when he checked later and hadn't received one. He wasn't really disappointed either, he told himself – they really didn't have that kind of relationship.

\-----

Stiles thought things would go back to normal after Derek's lack of reply. He thought wrong. 

The next afternoon, he was watching two of the other intern teams competing at quidditch internally moaning about how pointless it seemed and lamenting the fact that soon he was going to have to play. Its no that he was worried about being bad at it, per se. Hell he'd played lacrosse for the whole of high school, and quidditch is practically lacrosse with hands instead of sticks – not to mention the fact that running with werewolves will keep you in pretty good physical condition. 

So what got Stiles was more the fact that, in exactly which universe does being good at quidditch qualify you for a job at Google. Seriously. is this a joke? How is this an actual challenge someone thought up? He'd even sent a few text messages to Scott bemoaning it. So when he received a text notification, he assumed it was another message from Scott, laughing at his suffering some more. So he was staggered when he saw Derek's name on the screen.

_I hear you're playing fictional sports now. Lacrosse not hard enough for you?_

Holy. Shit. Are Derek and Scott really talking to each other about him? Stiles really doesn't know how to feel about that. Regardless, he shoots a quick message back in reply. _Dude, you of all people know how terrible I am at lacrosse._

After a few minutes, he grows bored and sends a second text, this time reading: _Also, you know Harry Potter? What am I talking about, of course you know Harry Potter. Holy shit, you were the same age as Harry when the books came out. Dude that's mad awesome, that must have been so much fun as a kid._

He's in the middle of a quidditch game when he finally gets a reply from Derek. And by 'in the middle of a quiddich game' he really means 'standing on the field browsing tumblr and facebook on his phone'. In the manner becoming typical of Derek's replies, he (frustratingly) completely ignores any and all personal questions and statements directed specifically towards him, instead choosing to focus only on the parts relating to Stiles.

_I don't remember you being terrible. In fact, I remember you nearly singlehandedly winning a few games._

For the first time since getting onto the pitch, Stiles kind of feels bad for putting in literally zero effort – kinda feels like he's letting someone down somehow. Well, someone he cares about the opinion of, specifically – because he already knows he's upsetting the two way-too-old dudes. Stiles is under no illusions that he's totally a Slytherin, and really doesn't give any shits about the opinions people he doesn't specifically choose to care about... but for some reason he cares about Derek's opinion of him, even if he is just a jerk werewolf who can't keep his nose out of other peoples' business. So when the two annoying old guys in his team call a timeout, and insist they start working together as team and actually attempt to win the game, Stiles actually gets on board. 

Of course, if you asked if it had anything to do with Derek, he'd laugh in your face. Because that would be ridiculous, right?

\-----

Days passed, with very little change. Occasionally he'll get a text from Scott, something along the lines of 'spent the day playing video games. It's not the same without you', or 'Allison cut her hair, she looks so amazing man, you should see her'. 

He texted Derek a couple of times. Messages like: _seriously you have no idea how frustrating these two guys are. They keep saying “on the line” instead of “online”. Even you're more tech savvy than that._ And like, _Dude, they just called me 'Dark and Stormy' ... Maybe we should introduce them to you, see how they react, because I'm like a cuddly puppy compared to you._ Again, he wasn't surprised when he didn't receive a response.

On the internship front, him and his team are supposedly working on making an app. Supposedly being the operative word, because literally no progress is being made. The only plus side is that at least being tasked with making an app was way more in line with actual work undertaken by a tech company, unlike goddamn quidditch.

Somehow it gets to be the evening before the app is due, and his goddamn team still has literally nothing. For some weird, unknown reason tweedledum and tweedledee (one day he might even deign to learn their names) decide this makes it the perfect time to go explore the nightlife of San Francisco.

Stiles should (theoretically) be an old hand at this. He goes to Berkeley for god's sake. That's literally only miles away from downtown San Francisco. And yet he's going into his final year in college, at the age of 21, and he has yet to go out drinking once. Not because he has some kind of moral objection to it or anything boring like that, more just because he's painfully aware of how much it's costing his dad to send him to UC Berkeley, even with the partial scholarship, and he doesn't want to sacrifice his grades and disappoint his dad by spending all his time making stupid choices instead of doing his assignments. 

So really, this is the first time he's actually had a chance to go to a bar, open up, and have some proper, college style, fun.

It all started off innocently enough. A chinese restaurant in Chinatown, a few drinks and some fragmented, uproarious conversations between their group and the locals in some kind of chinese dialect. Then, before Stiles even knew what was going on, they were being ushered out of the restaurant and off to what sounded like some kind of club.

It wasn't a club.

At least, it wasn't a nightclub.

Purely by accident, of course, they ended up in a strip club. Or at least, the guys said it was an accident, he himself wasn't really sold on the ruse. Stiles had seen strip clubs on movies, and in porn... quite a lot of porn, in fact. God, though, it was so different actually experiencing it for himself. Its one thing seeing a girl pole dancing on a laptop screen, its quite another seeing it happen six feet away from his face.

There is no doubting he maybe had one too many drinks. Or, a few too many, if he's being honest. Drinking wasn't so much of a new thing for him, he's more than happy to throw back a few with his dorm mate after a particularly hard week. Sometimes he'll even have a few too many, but its not like he goes out to bars, even those near campus, and gets hammered with any kind of regularity. 

So, condensed version is; he's drunk, he's miles from his hometown, he's in a strip club for the first time, he's surrounded by half naked women. Of course things get a bit crazy. He can't lie and say the girls did nothing for him, physically. They definitely did things for him. Things he could only have previously dreamed of. He found himself envisioning things in ways he'd never envisioned of Lydia Martin, or any of the other girls he'd found flitting across his mind since he'd gotten over her. Lydia was always an untouchable goddess in his mind – these women were far from untouchable,

But at the same time, he could definitely acknowledge that he wasn't just thinking of girls. People back home always took his joking about being gay as just that, a joke, but he knew different. At some point during the night, he found himself wishing there were more guys as well as just the girls. Not that the dancers weren't attractive, but he found himself desiring sharp angles and rough stubble an addition to the soft curves of the women.

And fuck him if he didn't start envisioning a muscled, dark haired man with broad shoulders and stubble. Maybe the kind of man who'd wear a leather jacket. Maybe the kind of man who'd have an intimidating scowl but hide a heart of gold.

By the time morning rolls around, he's sitting in a park overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge, a few minutes before sunrise, and he remembers far less of the previous night than he would prefer. 

He vaguely remembers a fight in the club, and having to tone down his fighting style to avoid unwanted questions from the rest of the group, but everything after being kicked out of the club is a bit of a blurr.

So he's definitely shocked to discover his string of drunken texts to Derek.

_Nto gonna lie dude I mght be a liiiiiitle drunk._

_These stripprs ae no match for yuu._

_You ar way more sexy than thse girls._

_Wsih you wre here._

…

Well fuck.

The only good part of the whole discovery is that Derek never replied. Stiles was in the middle of debating the pros and cons of driving the two-and-a-half hours back to Beacon Hills and stealing Derek's phone before he sees the messages, when Old-Blond-Guy walks up to him intending to have a deep and meaningful conversation.

Stiles begrudgingly admits it was the best night of his life. He'd certainly never felt or done anything like it, that much is for sure, but at the same time he couldn't deny he was a little worried about the fallout.

As it turned out, he wasn't the only one with penchant for sending less-than-well-reasoned text messages to people while intoxicated. It took Lyle's phone being wrestled away from him to avoid a further drunken text for the group to finally have an idea for their app.

On the trip back, Stiles threw himself into coding like it was the only thing grounding him right now, despite his pounding headache. It probably was the only thing keeping him from flipping out about Derek, really.

At 9am, the final deadline for the app competition, their program is completed and uploaded to the internet, and Stiles is very nearly passed on in a beanbag.

They win the competition, of course. Stiles tries not to think so hard about what the lesson that brought them to win might have cost him.  
As soon as he gets a chance he goes back to his shared apartment and passes out, the house blessedly silent as the rest of his roommates were out – doubtless not having spent the whole of the previous night drunkenly partying at a strip club.

He wakes later at 5pm, roused by a text message from Derek. Stiles opens it, nervousness blooming in his chest, but all it reads is: _I hope you got home okay._

_I'm fine, no need to worry – Stiles replies._

On the plus side, he tells himself, at least he can't be that angry.

\-----

After this, however, the frequency of Derek's messages increases dramatically. He's easily sending three a day now: enquiring about Stiles' work, what he's been eating, what he's been doing for fun, whether he's becoming better friends with his teammates yet.

Stiles isn't sure what he's playing at, but he's way too selfish to give up the attention Derek's giving him – having only just realised that he may just be secretly desiring something more from the man.

Everything's fine for a week or so. Everything maintains the weird equilibrium that Stiles has come to accept – the one in which he and Derek are kinda-friends and he mostly gets on well with his fellow interns.

So yeah, things are pretty good, until one day at lunch Neha leans over his shoulder and tells him to stop sexting his boyfriend and actually pay attention to the conversation happening around him.

Naturally, Stiles thinks this is hilarious, the idea the Derek Hale could possibly be his boyfriend. Because in what universe did a scrawny, geeky guy like Stiles get a guy like Derek. Obviously, he can't resist sending a text,

_One of my friends just told me to stop sexting boyfriend_

The reply is almost instantaneous. Stiles wouldn't have even suspected Derek knew how to text that fast: _You have a boyfriend?!!_

_Easy on the punctuation there big guy. Also what? No! Of course not! She means you, you dork... duh, its not like anyone actually wants a piece of this._

Stiles honestly a little taken aback by Derek's final reply

_They don't know what they're missing._

Stiles spends far longer than he should staring at that message over the next few hours. Neha just grins and winks knowingly at him.

\-----

Not many people realise there are three kinds of lunar eclipse: total, partial, and penumbral. Stiles, of course, did. He researched them all as soon as he learned about the effects of a total lunar eclipse. The whole mess with Deucalion taught him just how underprepared he was to deal with all the werewolf crap in his life, so he threw himself into learning as much as possible. He finally had a handle on most of the big things.

At least, he thought he did, right up until 2.42am on August 18 – four days before he was due back at Berkeley for the start of fall semester.

Right up until he got drunk-dialled by Derek Hale.

As it turns out, a penumbral eclipse isn't really noticeable by the human eye, since its only really a dimming of the moon rather than an actual blocking of its light. It does, however, weaken those powers associated with the moon. So werewolves, basically, it weakens werewolves. Not in the same way that an eclipse does – it doesn't strip them of their powers or anything – but it will make their natural strength slightly weaker. They won't heal as fast and won't be quite as strong.

Nothing dramatic, nothing dangerous, but just enough to dull their natural healing and metabolism to allow them to get drunk.

So Stiles is woken up at 2.42am on his last night at Google, by his phone blaring obnoxiously.

“h'lo” he mutters blearily, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Stiles?” and holy crap, thats Derek Hale on the other end.

“Derek?” Stiles asks, feeling more awake by the second “What's wrong? Is it witches... or vampires? Wait no, is it Scott... has he done something stupid?”

“Nothing like that. Just wanted to hear your voice”, Derek says, slurring a little at the end of the sentence.

“Are... are you drunk, dude?”.

“Just a little?”

“Wait, how are you drunk?” Stiles asks incredulously, heaving himself out of bed and peering out at the moon just to be sure, “its not a lunar eclipse. Are you sure nothing has happened?”

“Penumbral eclipse” Derek replies, struggling over the word, “makes my body weaker... slower. I got sad. I missed you. So I found some alcohol and drank it.”

Stiles is silent a second. Derek Hale... missed him?

“You... missed me?” Stiles asked, gripping the phone tighter in anxious anticipation.

“O'course I did”. Derek's voice sounded softer and happier than Stiles had ever heard it before, outside of low, private conversations with Cora.

“I... I kinda miss you too,” Stiles admits, before he's too awake to stop himself.“Where are you anyway? At home” he continues on to ask after a beat of silence.

“Yeah. At home.”

“Well at least I'm not going to have to drive two and a half hours to drag your little werewolf ass back home when you pass out somewhere then, so theres always that”, Stiles jokes.

“Not little.” Derek protests. “Don't want you to worry about me.”

“Too late dude, I always worry about you. You always come up with the worst plans when I'm not there to look out for you”.

“You care?” Derek asks. Stiles is so, so very sure he would never ask such a thing sober.

“Course I do, idiot. Who else would talk Scott out of his most stupid of plans.”.

They sit in silence for what feels like several minutes, Stiles listening to Derek's heavy breathing through the phone.

“How long until this eclipse thing is over, anyway?” Stiles asks, breaking the silence.

“All night” Derek replies with a yawn. 

Stiles smiles to himself. He'd never, ever seen Derek show signs of exhaustion before. “You sound tired, maybe you should sleep,” he suggests.

“Yeah. 'kay,” Derek agrees, “Sorry for waking you... Night Stiles.”

“Night Derek”.

It's 4am by the time Stiles' gets back to sleep. At the same time, however, he really can't find it in him to regret any of it.

\-----

Waking up that next morning, he shoots Derek a quick text, asking if he'd slept well and telling him about his plans for the day, about how its his final day at Google and about how he's driving back to Berkeley later to get settled into his dorm ready for the new semester.

That was the only time he got to himself, though. His final day at Google is busy as all hell. For their final challenge, the one which will determine whether or not they actually win the competition (and holy shit, Stiles never would have guessed his team would actually have a shot at winning the competition a job at Google) they have an uphill battle trying to seal an advertising sales contact. So Stiles is run off his feet, going from local business to local business with his team trying to sell them an advertising package with Google.

From there, the team is running late for the final meeting with all the interns and company executives before the end of the internship program.

And then they receive actual full-time jobs at google, to commence as soon as they graduate, and Stiles is caught up by a wave of euphoria. Holy shit, he actually has a job. At Google. Every software engineers dream. What the actual hell.

So. Long story short, Stiles really doesn't have another second to think about Derek.

Which makes it twice as surprising when he walks out into the parking lot ready to get the company bus back to the apartment (and consequently his faithful old Jeep) and sees Derek Hale leaning casually against his black Camaro, staring intensely at him.

Stiles' face breaks into a grin, and he cant' help but jog across the quad towards the werewolf.

“Holy shit dude. Did you really drive two and a half hours just to see me?” Stiles blurts out as soon as he's close enough.

“I told you I missed you,” is Derek's reply, his eyebrows spelling out amusement and fond exasperation.

“Oh my god, you're secretly such a softie. Behind that growly leather-and-scowling alpha werewolf exterior there's secretly an adorable little puppy” Stiles grins, now standing barely a foot from him. 

“Also, I totally got the job. Isn't that amazing?! Dude, I'm going to work at GOOGLE!” Stiles gushes, excitedly, his leg bouncing with pent-up enthusiasm.

“I knew you could do it. You always were the smartest one of us” Derek replies.

Behind him, Stiles can hear the rest of his group approaching.

“Hey, who's this? Your secret boyfriend?” Neha teases.

“Yeah, actually” Derek grins toothily at her over Stiles' shoulder, reaching out to wrap an arm around Stiles' waist and draw him closer until the boy is leaning against his side. And Stiles' heart skips, because holy shit thats an actual smile on Derek Hale's face, and he's never seen anything as beautiful before – doubts he will ever again actually. Stiles finds himself staring, eyes wide, lips parted, like he'd forgotten how to even move or breathe.

“Close your mouth, Stiles” Derek chuckles, “or I'll be forced to do terrible things to it”.

Stiles is blushing now. He is so done. Who is this person and what have they done with Derek Hale. But Derek just leans closer, capturing Stiles' mouth in a searing kiss. He doesn't have anything to compare it to, it being his first kiss and all, but Stiles finds himself wondering why he found himself waiting so long to do this, because it's goddamn amazing. Its practically a spiritual experience.

All too soon, Derek's pulling away. Stiles makes a betrayed sound, deep in his throat. Derek just smiles softly and nods towards his team members who have now gathered around them.

“I think we've put on enough of a show, for now at least” Derek explains, reminding Stiles of his friends gathered nearby – because it was pretty clear Stiles had forgotten where exactly they were – before offering his hand to each of Stiles' fellow interns and introducing himself.

“So.” Stiles says loudly, clapping his hands together once the introductions have been exchanged, “I will see all of you guys back here in a years time, for actual full-time paid employment. Because holy shit guys, we got the job!”.

\-----

Minutes later, Stiles finds himself sitting in the passenger seat next to Derek, and Derek is staring at him like he's the most beautiful fucking thing on the planet, and Stiles stops breathing again just a little bit.

“You don't mind, do you” Derek asked, almost unsure of himself, “... that I called you my boyfriend?”

“Only if it isn't true” Stiles replies.

Stiles looks up, and Derek is staring intently at his lips. Stiles nervously wets them with his tongue, before lifting his hand up to caress Derek's stubble. He can feel a blush spreading across his cheeks, but he gathers his confidence and leans closer to the man, until their lips are only centimetres apart. Stiles is overwhelmed for a second at the idea that they are breathing the same air (holy shit!, before capturing the man's lips in his own, running his tongue over the crease of Derek's lips until he opens them, allowing him access to the hot cavern of his mouth.

Stiles groans into the kiss, and Derek's hands are moving up to wind through Stiles' hair. Stiles has never been so happy he grew his hair out, because the feeling of Derek's fingers tugging on it is one of the best things he's ever felt.

Breaking for air, Stiles leans his forehead against Derek's, a smile on both of their faces.

“This is the best day of my life,” Stiles breathes out softly, his lips red and puffy from kissing.

“The best day of your life so far,” Derek grins back in reply.

Stiles pauses, and shifts back into his own seat. “Dude, did you just sort-of quote The Simpsons movie?”

Shifting the car into gear, Derek raised his eyebrows at him in the cockiest way possible and replies with “...you'll never be able to prove it. Nobody will ever believe you”.

“So, are you going to woo me... win me over?” Stiles asks as they pull out of the parking lot.

“Like you could resist me”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critique appreciated. Also follow me at [becauseyouaremyalpha](http://www.becauseyouaremyalpha.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for way more fun.


End file.
